Game Two in the Milford Friday Night Co-Ed Rec League and I Will Be Sore for the Rest of the Week (That's For Sure)

Pushing 50 is no joke. In fact, it is painful. I'm pretty sure Henry came back from the dead. Either that, or his cousin Hank has arrived with a vengeance. (For new readers, Henry was my hernia from a few years back).

I played first base, and I've always used my left leg against the bag, but the ump said I had to use my right, which was a bit wonky. I looked it up, and they're right. I'm not sure how I played for so many years and never seemed to have a problem with the leg I used. It was awkward.

As for hitting...in this league, two fouls is an out (you automatically start with one ball, and one strike, so I basically struck out the first time at bat). The second time, I hit it right through 3rd and short for an easy single, but I needed to get a runner. Hank or Henry...they were just not having a sprint. I could feel tissues ripping. 

I don't like this aging thing one bit. I am remember teenage years of playing softball, football, and baseball for days, only to wake up to do it all over again.

And these winds. Phew. Something else. 

Meanwhile, I'm proud to say I made the 30-day challenge with #verselove on EthicalELA  and the last challenge was to tackle fear and darkness, which easily is being buried alive for me. I didn't think I'd find a way to unravel the poem, but it sort of came together in an odd way (as leaving teaching in KY was a period when I kept having the same dream over and over again - I'd fall in a hole at the Brown School, and someone would shove dirt in so I couldn't get out. I always woke in a cold sweat. I hated it...and, in the end, left). Perhaps that feeling is on me again with University life. Maybe it is just my age and I see too much. Either way, here's the poem..."Bastard."

And, shoot. It's already May. HAPPY DERBY, Y'ALL!